Shadows of Grey Bars
by halleycat77
Summary: Episode tag to The Greybar Hotel. Lisbon contemplates her own fears, while Jane has bad dreams. A lot of thinking, and eventually a lot of talking, but no actual plot.
1. Chapter 1

Shadows of Grey Bars

Author's Notes: This is a tag for the episode The Greybar Hotel that just kept growing and, of course, took two weeks to finish. Sorry, I write slowly. It's six chapters total, I think. It begins at the end of the episode but before the very last scene where Cho tells Jane about Erica Flynn. I know the episode makes it appear that the Erica reference happens immediately, but that can't really be possible. Cho says the CIA "squeezed" Foster for information, then they had to research the names he provided to find the Erica connection, all of which must have taken a few days, at least. So let's suppose this story takes place before Erica's name is mentioned. And it ignores the subsequent episodes, since I wrote most of it before I saw them.

Shadows of Grey Bars  
>by halleycat77<p>

Chapter One

The first thing Lisbon did when they got back to the FBI office was take a shower. It felt good to wash off the prison smell and get back into her own clothes. The minute she finished, they swept her off to give her statement, while her memory was fresh of everything Foster and his confederates had said and done. There was no telling what stray word might give a clue about the people they worked for. (If chimichangas could help crack a case, anything could.)

The debrief seemed to take forever, and when she finally escaped from the interview room, Jane was nowhere to be found. Anxiety tightened her chest all the way home, but she didn't quite realize how worried she was until she arrived in sight of her house and saw his car in the driveway. Then she was finally able to breathe.

When she closed the front door and turned, there he was, waiting for her. For once he was completely open, the sleepless nights and sheer terror of the afternoon plain to see in his face, his posture, the stricken look in his eyes. She dropped her bag and walked straight into his arms. He held her so tight it was hard to breathe but she didn't care. She needed to touch him more than she needed air.

They didn't stop touching all night, even when they went to the kitchen briefly for food before going back to bed. It didn't look like he had been to the house at all while she'd been gone; everything was exactly as they had left it four days ago. It felt like a lifetime.

Patrick finally went to sleep curled around her, and, lulled by his heartbeat, she slept too. He woke her to make love again in the dark hour before dawn, more slow and tender than their earlier desperate neediness, then just held her for a long time before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. Teresa, however, tired as she was, couldn't drift back off. She lay still in his arms, watching the windows slowly lighten with dawn, trying to get her mind around everything that had happened.

She had seen a man murdered right in front of her, and not been able to do a thing to stop it. She, a cop. As volatile as Cole Foster had seemed in the first moments of meeting him, she hadn't dreamed he'd pull out a gun and shoot somebody for no reason. They were on the run, it was insane. Rationally, she knew that with no warning and no weapon, there was nothing she could have done, but it still felt wrong. Cole and Marie had been so cold-blooded about it. Worse than cold-blooded, _gleeful_. Shocked and sickened, all she could do was stay with them and try to leave clues, in the faint hope that the FBI would find them. No, in the hope that Patrick would find _her_. And he had.

In those endless, too-brief moments after Foster's paranoia had turned on her, with three guns pointed at her, Lisbon knew she was about to die. Fleetingly, she thought how ridiculous it was that she had survived Red John, only to go out like this. Then all she could think was, _we need more time_. After everything she and Jane had been through, the enormously long road they had traveled to get to where they were now, they deserved more. More time, more happiness, more _life_. Together. Grief and anguish closed her throat, choking her.

Then she heard his voice, Patrick's beautiful voice, and her heart leaped, thinking for a moment that they were really safe, only to realize he was bluffing, trying to buy time. Such a totally Jane thing to do, facing down guns with smoke and mirrors. Well, a wallet and a mirror. She loved him so much in that moment, glad on the one hand that she got to see him one last time, that she could die looking into his eyes, and at the same time terrified that he would die too. And the way he had looked at her, the love and despair in his eyes...

In the next moment, the last possible moment, when the cavalry literally came over the hill, the surprise and relief were overwhelming. At first she felt physically sick, after the intense emotional rollercoaster of the last half hour, but that reaction passed after a few minutes. What stayed with her, haunted her, was the realization, no, the _revelation,_ of what Patrick had done. It was her struggle to comprehend it that was keeping her awake.

She turned her head. There was enough light now for her to see his face, highlighting the elegant line of his cheekbone, gilding his tousled curls. Teresa still marvelled that he was really hers, couldn't believe it in a way. It seemed too good to be true. Was that why she still doubted? _I don't know if he'll stick around..._ He meant it when he said he loved her, she knew that, yet part of her was still afraid he might not stay, that loving her would not be enough, that _she_ would not be enough, to overcome his fears, his longstanding inability to trust, to let anyone in.

_The idea of letting anyone get close to me is terrifying..._ He had good reason for his fear. She remembered the shattered wreck of a man who had dragged himself into the CBI, into her life, all those years ago. That was what giving his heart and having it torn away had done to him. (She'd always been afraid to think about what kind of state he must have been in _before_ the mental hospital.) The loss had so nearly destroyed him. What could be worth risking going through that pain again?

No, Teresa realized painfully, her question really was, how could _she_ be worth that risk, that pain? No one had ever loved her that much before. Not any of the men she had been with in the past. Not Marcus. Not even her own father.

And yet... Patrick did. It was scary and overwhelming, but it had been so clear in his eyes, proved undeniably by his actions in confronting three armed lunatics.

Patrick Jane loved her, Teresa Lisbon, more than life.

He had clearly seen the mortal danger of the situation she was in, and without hesitation had flung himself into it with her. He intended to save her if he could, obviously, but having no time for an elaborate plan, his bluff was paper-thin and he knew it. There was no real hope that it would work, and he didn't care. She was about to die, and he fully intended to die with her. That long last look had been eloquent. He wouldn't survive losing her, and didn't mean to even try.

She shuddered, at last feeling fully what it all meant. He really did love her that much, that losing her would hurt him as much as losing Angela had. Which was wonderful, but also appalling, because his plan for dealing with his fear appeared to be this: if she died, he'd make sure he died too.

Definitely too much for her exhausted brain to handle. She wanted his love, but she also wanted him to live, wanted him to _want_ to live, no matter what. How could she convince him that his life was worth living, even if she wasn't there?

It was too late for that, she realized, remembering the raw emotion in his face on that airplane, just a few weeks ago. _I can't imagine waking up, knowing I won't see you._ To be honest, she felt the same way. She didn't want to live without him, either. Even thinking of moving away from him had hurt her worse than a bullet. Trying to imagine a world without him in it at all... No. Not bearable.

This love gave them such power over each other. She could destroy him. Or she could make him happy. And he could do the same to her. No wonder he had been so terrified. This was way scarier than looking down the barrel of Foster's gun. And it would last a lot longer.

At least it would if she had anything to do with it. Suddenly, the solution seemed obvious. If she wanted him to live, she just had to make sure she lived too. In the moment of imminent death, all she had wanted was more time, the chance for a life with Patrick, and God had granted her prayer. It was up to her to make the most of what she was given, to cherish this gift.

Patrick had found the courage to love her, to take the risk, and so could she. It was a lot easier to face fear when you weren't alone. They were both afraid, in their different ways. But they could deal with it, together.

Feeling much more relaxed, she yawned and laid her head on his shoulder. He mumbled something without really waking and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. She snuggled into his side contentedly and joined him in sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The nightmares started the next night.

Having been on duty continuously during her time at the prison, Lisbon had the day off, and Abbott didn't even bother to call when Jane was late, nor did he seem at all surprised when Jane eventually texted to say he wasn't coming to work either. So they were able to sleep late and spend a lazy day engaged in pleasurable togetherness, mostly in bed. Or in the shower. Or on the sofa. And almost on the kitchen table, but Lisbon objected, demanding food instead. They had enough eggs, coffee, and tea for a late breakfast, but beyond that, the cupboard was pretty bare, and by late afternoon, having expended a good deal of energy being lazy together, they were both hungry. Lisbon suggested going to the grocery story, but Jane vetoed the idea, not wanting to let go of her for that long, so they ordered in from the nearest Chinese place, and ended up snuggled on the couch, trying to feed each other with chopsticks and laughing when it got messy. Teresa found herself giggling uncontrollably when Patrick gave up on the chopsticks and decided to just use _her_ for a plate, proving his point about her being ticklish in the process. Breathless and sticky, she insisted on another visit to the shower, where she took the opportunity to tickle him back.

In short, it was a perfect day. After spending the evening sharing a bottle of wine and half-watching a movie, mostly as an excuse to cuddle on the couch some more, they were both feeling utterly relaxed and contented, and had no trouble falling asleep in each other's arms.

They had only been asleep for an hour or so, when sounds of distress began to infiltrate Teresa's pleasant dream, turning it dark. Finally she woke up enough to realize the sounds were real, and turned over. Patrick was having a nightmare, making little choked noises and trying to move, but too deep asleep to wake himself. She spoke to him softly before attempting to touch him, then laid her hand on his cheek, stroking gently until he calmed. Eventually he sighed, turning his face into her hand, and appeared to slide back into deeper sleep without ever waking.

It wasn't the first time he'd had a bad dream since they'd been together. He claimed his sleep had improved in Venezuela (after Red John), and even more since he'd come back to the US (to her), but he still had trouble. Though he seemed to fall sleep easily enough, especially after they'd made love, he was often awake before her. Sometimes he was lying quietly, watching her. A few times she woke up alone, finding him in the living room with a cup of tea. She suspected bad dreams on those occasions, though he didn't want to talk about it.

Three or four times he'd had actual nightmares, bad enough to wake both of them. He'd apologized for disturbing her, but deflected her concern, saying he'd always been prone to vivid dreams and nightmares, even before Red John, so she shouldn't worry. Teresa thought that was probably true. With a mind like his, his powerful, restless intelligence and brilliant imagination, it was very likely hard to turn off, even in sleep.

Still, she did worry. She remembered too well how exhausted he would get when his insomnia took a bad spell back in the CBI days. Though he'd never admitted to nightmares then, she'd watched him sleeping on the couch in her office, seen him twitching restlessly or startling awake, often enough to know how much dreams had bothered him. While he was clearly better now, his sleep was still a long way from normal.

She was being idiotically romantic, she told herself, to hope that lying in her arms could protect him from his demons, that being with her would make all his dreams happy.

Far from it, in fact. They'd both just made an enormous change in their lives, of course it wasn't going to be easy to adjust. For the first weeks, Teresa had been floating on the wonder of it all, the honeymoon bliss, and reality hadn't even begun to set in for her until they went back to work. Then her anxieties had threatened to reappear, but yesterday's demonstration of the depth of his love gave her a new certainty. The ground was beginning to feel solid under her feet again.

Patrick, however, had already admitted that the very idea of letting her close terrified him. They hadn't actually talked about it, too captivated by their new intimacy to pay any attention to the shadows, but that fear had to go somewhere. No wonder he was dreaming.

And after yesterday, she realized with a sinking feeling, it was only going to get worse. If losing her was his greatest fear, then seeing her threatened by a psychopath, only moments from death, would be the worst thing possible for him. It must have felt like falling back into the abyss he had only just managed to claw his way out of. Pretty much a guarantee of nightmares to come.

She would have to find a way to make him talk about it. He'd spent so much of his life alone in a dark place, and shutting himself away with his pain had become a habit. It was a habit she had to help him break. She was just as bad, Teresa acknowledged. Sharing their feelings, baring their souls, was something they had both always avoided, and that failure to communicate had caused all their worst problems. They couldn't fail now. There was too much at stake. They had braved their fears to get this far. Even if the worst wasn't quite over, they would make it through. They had to.

Resolving to sleep with one ear open for sounds of trouble, she kissed Patrick's shoulder softly and settled down close to him, resting one hand on his chest, so she could feel it if he tensed. She would protect him as she always had, even from his own mind, if she could. _Nothing could be worse than what we've already survived,_ she reminded herself. _And that was when we weren't fully together. Now, we can do anything._


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: I am thrilled by the lovely reviews! Thank you, thank you! As requested, posting more. More notes at the end down below.

Chapter Three

Unfortunately, Teresa's private prediction of more nightmares turned out to be only too correct. Patrick had another later that night, worse, jerking awake suddenly with a gasp. She could feel him trembling until he sat up, then slid out of bed. He shut himself in the bathroom for a few minutes, then went quietly out of the bedroom. She waited a few moments, then followed him to the kitchen. He didn't say anything, just took out another cup and made tea for her too.

She decided not to push him to talk quite yet, but sat with him quietly, sharing the tea. After a while he sighed and looked at her, meeting her eyes with a rueful little smile. She smiled back gently. He reached for her hand, and without a word, they went back to bed.

She thought he slept a little more after that, but he still looked tired when they got up to go to work. Their main task at the office that day involved finishing their reports on the Foster/Flanagan case, which was not calculated to ease Jane's anxieties. The CIA had taken charge of Foster, so they didn't have to actually see him again, but reviewing their initial statements required re-living the whole nasty experience. Lisbon found herself wishing for a new case, just to take their minds off it, but all the criminals seemed to be goofing off today.

They managed to escape for a while at lunchtime. She took Jane off to lunch at a place where they were unlikely to see any of their colleagues, just so they (okay, _she_) could be comfortable sitting close and touching. He smiled and joked, trying to seem relaxed, but she knew him too well now to miss the subtle lines of stress around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. After they'd eaten, and had a nice, normal debate about what to get at the grocery store to make for dinner that evening, she thought he really did feel better, but it was still a very long day.

That night they decided to go to bed early, only partly because they were both tired. Their lovemaking was more intense than gentle or playful, and Patrick held her just a little too tight. She ran her fingers through his hair, something they both enjoyed, until he fell asleep, and braced herself for a rough night.

Sure enough, he woke up three times, the dreams seeming to get worse each time. The first time she was able to soothe him back to sleep as she had the night before. The second time he reached for her, wrapping himself around her urgently as he had two nights ago, after their near-death experience, needing the comfort of her body. The third time, when he'd been thrashing and crying out, he gave up on sleep, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

Teresa wrapped her arms around his pillow, trying to think what to do next. Touch, reassurance, sex, even tea, all might calm him temporarily but did nothing to prevent the horror coming back. The next thing would have to be the dreaded talk. The therapist-types all insisted that it helped, and surely they couldn't all be wrong. While her own experience with psychiatrists had not been good, and Patrick despised doctors in general, even he had admitted that Sophie Miller had helped him.

The trouble was, she didn't even know how to start. Heart-to-heart talks were not something she had ever been good at. Hell, _relationships_ were not something she was good at. For a moment, panic flared. What would she do if she couldn't help him, if she failed and this whole thing fell apart - _No. _She clutched his pillow tighter, buried her face in it, and suddenly the fear began to lessen. After a moment, she realized the pillow smelled like Patrick. Just breathing his scent made her feel better.

If only it could be that simple to ease his fears. She would be happy to act as his pillow for as long as he needed. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Earlier, he'd gone back to sleep in her arms with his head on her breast, and had still dreamed again. She rubbed her cheek on the pillowcase, breathing deep, and made up her mind.

If she wanted to help him face his fears, she had to face her own. She loved him too much to see him suffer, and letting the situation go on just risked him deciding to run away and hide the way he used to. He didn't want to hurt her like that, she knew, but the tireder he got, and the more freaked-out by the nightmare images, the worse his judgement would become, and he might convince himself it was the best thing to do. _Anything but that_, she thought. Words were his strong point, not hers, but she had to find a way.

As she heard the shower turn off, Teresa sent up a quick prayer that she could find the right words to convince him to talk to her, and that talking would help him. _Coffee,_ she thought. _When I've had my coffee and he's had his tea, then we'll talk. It's early. We'll have time before work._

But they didn't. As soon as he came out of the bathroom, before she even finished saying "good morning," the phone rang. It was Abbott. So much for her plan.

Someone had robbed a bank in a town a couple of hours away from Austin, shooting a guard in the process, and they were up. Cho and Vega went with them, so they couldn't even talk in the car. Jane seemed a little distracted, which worried her, not giving the case his full attention, so while he insisted afterwards that it was really very simple, he didn't solve it until the next day. The FBI only booked two rooms for the night, so Lisbon had to share with Vega and Jane with Cho, though she was sure Jane never actually went to bed. The next morning he had that over-caffeinated look he only got when he'd been drinking coffee, trying to stay awake. It made him a little hyper when he finally got to his big reveal of the culprit, but that was normal enough she knew Cho wouldn't think anything of it. As for Vega, she would just have to adjust. Jane was Jane.

On the drive back to Austin, he seemed to doze in the back seat. She tried to keep an eye on him surreptitiously in the rear-view mirror as she drove. She saw him twitch a couple of times, and once he appeared to wake suddenly, rubbing his hand over his face, then looked at her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She smiled slightly, and he relaxed, giving her a little smile back and blinking sleepily. _At least he should be tired enough to sleep tonight,_ she thought hopefully, but of course, it couldn't be that easy.

They got back to Austin mid-afternoon. She'd made a good start on her report by four, when Abbott came by her desk and told her she could finish up tomorrow, since they'd had such an early start the day before. Jane was still in an interview room making his statement. (Given his hatred of typing, they'd found it saved grief all around to just let him dictate instead. And Lisbon was extremely happy she didn't have to do all his reports any more.) She dawdled a bit, hoping he would appear, but when she saw Abbott looking at her strangely, went on home.

And just like that, the crisis was upon her. Patrick didn't come.

Teresa stood it as long as she could, maybe an hour, but at the tenth time of picking up her phone, she finally touched her fingers to the screen to text him. She considered trying to play it cool, say something like, _Abbott still got your nose to the grindstone?_, but she knew she wouldn't fool him. Finally she just went straight for, _Where are you?_

The wait to see if he would reply was agonizing. She could hardly breathe. Then she realized she was flashing back to the time he'd disappeared to Vegas for six months, all the desperate calls and texts he'd never answered. _It's not like that now,_ she reminded herself, closing her eyes and taking slow deep breaths. Holding the phone in both hands, she tried to _will_ him to respond. For a moment, she thought she could actually feel him making up his mind, and then her phone dinged. _Airstream,_ it said.

_Here we go,_ she thought. _Time to nip this in the bud._ She wasn't going to let him hide from her, not any more. So she couldn't hide either. While her brain at the moment felt terrifyingly empty, she would find the words, the words that would bring him back, bring them together. Because she had to.

* * *

><p>Notes, part 2: Yes, I know, three whole chapters without a word of dialogue. Bad. Sorry, sorry. They start talking in the next chapter, I promise. When I began this, I meant it to be one chapter of Lisbon reflecting on her issues and one chapter of conversation about Jane's. They've ended up demanding three chapters each. What can I do, they won't shut up. Chapter Four tomorrow.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Driving to the trailer park where Jane kept his Airstream, Lisbon found her hand going to her throat, touching her mother's crucifix. _Please God, help me to help him. You saved us from dying. Please save us from the nightmares._ By the time she arrived, she was feeling calmer, though she still had no idea what to say to Jane. Yelling at him, her first resort in the old days, was probably not the way to go. That thought almost made her smile as she walked up and knocked on the door of the RV.

He opened it without delay. As she climbed the steps, the first thing she noticed was that he was still dressed but barefoot, confirming what she already knew, and she spoke the thought without meaning to. "You're planning to spend the night here?"

Patrick had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I thought I might. The case was tiring, you need your rest. You'll sleep better if I..." He paused. She looked at him steadily. He couldn't quite meet her eyes, but went on, "...if I'm not there waking you up."

"Unh uh," Teresa responded simply, shaking her head. "Not gonna happen. I found out in jail, I can't sleep without you any more. Last night, same thing. You've spoiled me, so now you're stuck with me. I'd rather take my chances with you waking me up than not sleep at all. If you want to stay here, fine, we'll stay here. But we're a package deal now. You're not leaving me." The tremor she heard in her own voice in the last words sent a wave of scalding embarrassment through her for a moment, but she refused to let herself flinch. She lifted her head and looked at him.

He was looking back at her now, his eyes wide, shocked. "No! I - I'm not... I don't want to leave you, Teresa, how can you think that? I love you. I just..." His eyes dropped and he turned a little, not able to face her. "I don't want to disturb you is all. I keep having these, these stupid nightmares, and there's no reason you should have to put up with it. I just need a little time. Soon, it - it'll get better, and then..."

He was stammering. Jane never stammered. And he wasn't looking at her. For a man who was normally all about intense eye-contact, especially with her, the change was painful, his discomfort obvious. Even when he'd told her about his nervous breakdown, she remembered, he'd looked her in the eye. Could the nightmares be worse than the breakdown? Then she got it. _The breakdown was in the past. The dreams are now. It's worse for me to see it happening._

She opened her mouth, knowing she needed to find words _now_, but still having no idea what to say. Then an odd thing happened. The moment suspended, as if time stopped for just an instant, and words came to her. His words, the ones that had changed everything. _It's the truth of what I feel._ That was it, what they both needed. Like she had momentarily when she first walked in, she should just open her mouth and let the truth of what she was thinking and feeling flow out. No trying to protect herself, or him. No judging or censoring. Just honesty. And trust.

Time snapped back, and she heard her own voice, shaky at first, then strengthening. "How will it get better, if you don't let me help? If you shut me out? It really scares me when you do that. What if it doesn't get better? How long before you give up on coming back to me? Or how long can you do without sleep before you hurt yourself? Drink too much or take too many sleeping pills, or, or crash your car because you fall asleep? I don't want to lose you, Patrick. I hate seeing you in pain. I really hate it when you push me away and don't let me see. Waking or sleeping, I want to be with you. Please just - just let me." Her voice was wavering now, tears threatening.

He was staring at her in astonishment. When she stopped, trying to gulp back the tears, he spoke, his voice soft and reassuring. "It'll be okay, my darling. I'll be okay. I don't mean to push you away, and I don't want you to be scared. I promise I'll be careful. Try not to worry. This isn't the first time I - I've had problems, you know that. I got through it before, and I'll get through it now. It'll just take some time. I know I... you've had to be patient with me for far too long, but, but if you can -"

She interrupted, knowing now exactly where she was going. "I'm happy to be patient _with_ you, I don't care if you wake me up five times a night, just don't ask me to be away from you. Whatever you need, however long it takes. Just please let me try to help. I know you've survived worse, when you... when you were in the hospital..." He flinched, and she hesitated, then licked her dry lips and firmed her courage. "You had help then. I know you don't trust doctors, but you told me yourself Sophie Miller was good, that she helped you." He nodded reluctantly, not meeting her eyes. _Here goes the big question._ "I think you need help now." He shifted, moving away from her slightly and starting to shake his head, and she hurried on. "Not a doctor necessarily. But they say it can really help to talk about dreams. If you could talk about what's bothering you, even if just to... to me, maybe... maybe that would help. We could... try anyway." She heard how small and timid her voice was becoming, and tried to make it strong again. "We need to do something, Patrick. Pretending nothing is wrong is not going to work."

He was looking at her now, into her eyes, and Teresa met his gaze, as steadily as she could. She could see his indecision. He had torn himself open for her once, when he told her how he felt about her. Now she was asking him to do it again, to share not just his love but his pain with her. Could he do it? Would it even help if he could?

_Yes!_ she thought, and tried to send her own certainty to him, that a partnership as strong and abiding as theirs was more than enough to defeat something as insubstantial as a bad dream.

She could see in his eyes the moment when he made up his mind, but in typical Jane fashion, he had to mask strong emotion with a joke. "Are you going to start smoking cigars now? Should I call you Doctor Freud?" Relief flooded through her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"I do love you, you know," she said softly. "Even when you're acting like an idiot."

"I had noticed," he replied, and pulled her into his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note at end

Chapter Five

For long moments they just held each other, enjoying the warmth, and she felt it when he began to relax. He bent his head, nuzzling her neck, and said, "We could try going to bed now. I am extremely tired..." He was trying to sound pathetic, and she might have bought it, knowing how little sleep he'd had in the past week, if his body's reaction hadn't made it obvious that he had something else in mind.

Teresa pulled back a little, laying her hands flat on his chest. "Nope. Talk first, other, uh... forms of relaxation later."

Patrick sighed, but didn't argue, just saying in a resigned tone, "So, how do you want to do this, Doctor Lisbon? Shall I lie on the couch?"

She really didn't have the slightest idea. "Um, sitting will be just fine."

Obediently, he moved to the built-in couch in the front of the RV and sat, pulling her down next to him, holding her hands. When she didn't speak, after a moment he tried to lighten the growing tension. "So how many times have you read _The Interpretation of Dreams_ anyway, Doctor?"

"I haven't," she admitted. "But I think I must be the world's greatest authority on the interpretation of Patrick Jane, so that will have to do." He smiled and bowed slightly in acknowledgement of her claim. She took a deep breath and decided to start slow. "Maybe some background? You told me you've always had dreams and trouble sleeping. How did it start, how old were you?"

He answered readily enough, after letting out a noisy breath. "Hmm. Almost as long ago as I can remember. It would get better sometimes, but then there would be bad patches. It was really bad for a while when I was nine..." His eyes were far away, haunted.

Very gently, Teresa prompted, "What happened when you were nine?"

It was no surprise when he said softly, "My mother died."

She squeezed his hands and said shyly, "I had nightmares too. When I was twelve. After my mother... It's hard. The hardest thing there is for a child, I think." He looked at her, his eyes now soft and warm, accepting her confidence, encouraging her, until she went on. "She had a car accident, you know. I would try to imagine it, but all I knew was what I'd seen in the movies. In the dreams, there was always... a lot of blood. It was horrible. I'd wake up crying." He raised her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. "I never told anyone that." She'd never had anyone to tell. No one who would listen. Neither had he, probably. She caressed his cheek. "What happened to your mother?"

He took a deep breath and let it out before answering. "She was sick. It took a long time. Nobody ever really explained to me what was wrong, and I kept hoping she'd get well, but... she didn't. After she died, I kept dreaming... I kept imagining that she wasn't really gone, that I needed to find her, to talk to her, but I - I never could." He let out a shuddering sigh. "It was a complicated time. A lot changed around then." She had a strong feeling that was a major understatement, but for now they should probably stick to his sleep issues. Maybe someday he would tell her the rest.

"But you'd had nightmares even before that? What were those like?"

Patrick cleared his throat nervously, a thing he rarely did, and she could feel his discomfort growing. But he answered. "I had - they call them night terrors. You wake up suddenly, usually, uh... screaming..." He shrugged one shoulder, embarrassed. "It feels kind of like a panic attack. Heart pounding, can't breathe. Takes a while to calm down." Interesting that he admitted familiarity with panic attacks, she noted to herself. Another issue for later. She didn't interrupt. "Fortunately you grow out of them, usually in adolescence. I did. Well, mostly." He immediately appeared to regret that last word, looking alarmed.

To distract him, she commented, "It sounds absolutely awful."

"Yeah, it kind of was. But it's even worse to watch. It runs in families apparently. My - Charlotte had it. Seeing her like that... she couldn't stop crying. It was..." He shook his head, and after a minute, cleared his throat again. "We didn't know what it was when I was a kid, but that's what the doctor said when we took her. There's not much they can do for it. Just wait for it to stop."

Charlotte never had the chance to grow out of it. She could read that thought very clearly in his expression, and then, as his face changed, thought she understood the next. She smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand, not lightly.

"Ow! What was that for?" He looked shocked, but the darkness had left his eyes.

"You're blaming yourself because she got it from you. A thing you had no control over, that you didn't even know could be inherited. Stop it. I know you have a long list of things you feel guilty for that weren't your fault, and I'm not letting you add that. You're not responsible for your genes."

"Oh." He watched her for a minute, judging the odds of her hitting him again, and decided to play it safe. "Okay. You're right, I guess."

"Damn straight." Teresa nodded. In the old days, she'd barely heard him utter his daughter's name. Now he'd told her something about Charlotte voluntarily. He really was making progress. Maybe this talking thing really worked. _She_ was feeling better, anyway. But they were a long way from finished.

"So the night-terror thing got better when you were a teenager? Did you sleep okay then? What about nightmares in general?"

Patrick nodded at her first question. "I had some. Doesn't everybody? It wasn't bad though, most of the time. I slept... well, I caught naps when I needed to. The carnival keeps late hours. And my father..." He looked sideways at her. She kept her face calm, waiting. "Well, he kept late hours, too. He'd come in after playing poker half the night. Sometimes he'd been drinking, or he'd... uh, bring a woman. We lived in a very small trailer, so..." He shrugged as if he didn't care, as if a teenage boy having to listen to his father having sex with strange women was perfectly normal, but she felt slightly horrified.

He appeared not to notice her reaction. "I could always go sleep in the hay with Daisy. The elephant, you remember? She never minded. She liked me. But a lot of people were afraid of her, so it was - um, safe, there." Teresa had the feeling there was something he wasn't going to tell her, about whatever had made him feel not-safe, but she was realizing that dredging up all the traumas of his childhood would be way too much for her, if not for him.

_I'm Doctor Freud,_ she reminded herself. _Focus on his dreams._ She took a deep breath, and tried to project sympathetic calm.

"Okay. So let's skip ahead a bit. What about... Sorry. When you were married. Did you have the insomnia or dream a lot then?"

He gazed at her steadily, assessing her reaction. Teresa almost cringed. Asking about his marriage was something she just didn't do, but he seemed completely unbothered. "I always dream, but they're not always bad. The dreams were mostly good after we got settled." Then he completely surprised her by giving her a wicked little smile. "As you know, I find regular sex is very relaxing. So I'd say I slept better then than any other time in my life." She felt herself blushing, and his smile widened for a moment. Then his mood shifted, in that sudden, mercurial way of his, and she understood he had decided to reveal something.

"You should understand what you're getting into, wanting to stay close to me," Patrick said, warning in his tone. "I told you I'd _mostly_ gotten over the night terrors. It still happens every once in a while. Not often, but I never know when. And when it does... I, uh, don't know where I am at first, or... or who I'm with. And sometimes I..." He looked away, continuing very softly, "...strike out."

He got up, moving away from her for the first time since they began talking, and she could feel his shame. "Once I... God. I hit Angela." He swallowed convulsively, looking sick, and without thinking she followed him, coming up behind him to press against his back and wrap her arms around his waist. He gripped her hands. "I didn't even recognize her. I was just afraid, and I... I hit her in the face. Gave her a black eye."

He turned abruptly in her embrace and gripped her upper arms to hold her away from him, looking into her eyes. "Teresa, if I ever do that to you, hurt you the way your fa-" He cut off that thought, to her relief, but rushed on. "I would never forgive myself. I should have told you before we..."

Teresa put her hand over his mouth to stop him before he talked himself into regretting sleeping with her. Even if it was only the sleep part he regretted. This they definitely needed to resolve, immediately.

"Let me get this straight. You were asleep and had one of those terror/panic attacks. What did Angela do?"

"I'm not sure. Tried to wake me up somehow."

"Touched you? Shook you?"

"Probably. It doesn't matter. I never should have -"

"You didn't know who she was or what was happening, except that you were terrified and someone you didn't recognize was doing something to you. While you were basically still asleep. Have I got that right?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"No buts. It was an accident, that's all. You didn't intend to hurt her. I'm sure you were way more upset about it than she was. Am I right?"

"Uh..."

Taking that as agreement, she ceremonially laid both her hands on Patrick's head. "Okay. I hereby officially absolve you. There's no way you would ever hit her on purpose. Or me. You struck out blindly without knowing what you were doing and just happened to make contact. If you ever manage to punch me, it would be a _really_ lucky shot."

Seeing he still looked rather stricken, she softened, moving her hands to cup his face. "It's okay. You've warned me, so I know what could happen. You're not responsible for your unconscious reactions. You don't need to worry about it any more. Now I know to be careful if you have one of these episodes." She smiled at him affectionately. "And to watch out for your right hook. Yeah, you're pretty fast and pretty strong, but let's be realistic. The only way you're ever going to hit me is if I do something really stupid. And I will try very hard to avoid that. So just trust me, okay?"

"Okay." Finally, he relaxed, smiling back at her.

The smile broadened the next moment, when her stomach growled loudly. Becoming aware of her surroundings, she saw it had gotten dark. It was a long time since lunch. She was hungry, and they could both use a break from the heavy emotional stuff. "You got any food in this bucket?"

"Uh, not really. I've been spending most of my time elsewhere lately, if you recall."

"Hm, might ring a faint bell." Her smile was teasing.

"Glad to know I've made such an impression." He mock-frowned but couldn't hold it, smiling at her again irresistibly with such warmth she couldn't help reaching out to take hold of his shirt collar and pull him down for a kiss. Then she released him and turned him around, giving him a little push toward his kitchen cabinets.

"If you want to make a good impression right now, you'd better feed me."

"Yes ma'am, right away ma'am," he said smartly, and opened the cabinet door.

* * *

><p>Author's note: I am working on another story about Jane's childhood and what happened with his mother, which will explain part of what he refers to here, if anybody is interested. I hit a couple of snags with it, but now I really want to go back and finish, so let's hope that story will be coming before too much longer.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Thank you SO much for the all the wonderful comments! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the interest and encouragement. The last chapter got long so I broke it into two, but I'm posting both at once. So here's the conclusion, without further delay.

Chapter Six

A search unearthed a packet of spaghetti and a jar of sauce, so Teresa got her food in just a few minutes. Patrick normally preferred to make his own sauce, so she wasn't sure why he even had the jar, but under the circumstances she had no complaints. It tasted fine to her. They both ate hungrily for a few minutes, sitting at his little table. When they'd finished, he put the dishes in the sink and turned around to look at her, leaning back against the counter.

"Now what? Are we done, Doctor?"

"I don't think so." She looked at him steadily, tempted as he was to just go to sleep now and finish dealing with their problems later. But nothing was solved yet, and postponing wouldn't help. It had been so hard to start their conversation, she dreaded having to go through that again. Better to just keep going now. She took a deep breath. _Here comes the worst part. We can do this._

"I think I have a pretty good idea what you dreamed about all those years at the CBI, and why you hated sleeping so much." He grimaced and half-shrugged, agreeing that she probably did. "You said some of that got better while you were... away."

He nodded. "Yes. The nightmares got better. Or at least, a lot less frequent. While I was away, as you put it, I started having better dreams. Happier memories, or wishes. A lot of them were about you."

"Me? You dreamed about me?" Teresa smiled and felt herself blushing a little, remembering the dreams she'd had about him. Some of them had kept her warm on cold Washington nights.

Patrick appeared to have no trouble reading what she was thinking, and smiled back, slow and suggestive. "Oh yes. Frequently. I can't say they were exactly restful dreams, although they were _very_ pleasant." His smile was positively wicked now, and a warm tingle went through her. But... _He's distracting me. I must be getting close. Here goes._

"So what are you dreaming about now?"

He froze, then moved abruptly, going back to sit on the couch, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together and staring down at his hands. After a moment, when he didn't speak, she got up and went to join him, sitting next to him and reaching out to lay her hand on top of his. He changed his grip, entwining their fingers, holding onto her. When he finally answered, his voice was husky, barely above a whisper.

"Still about you. Only... the way I used to. Before. When the dreams... changed."

"Changed how?" she prompted, her voice just as soft.

"For years, I would dream about - that night. You know. When it happened. Then, after a while, after - we'd been working together for a long time... they started to change. I would walk up the steps and down the hall in my house, just the same, but when I opened the door... sometimes... sometimes it would be you lying there. And it was just as bad."

He was breathing faster now and she could feel a tremor beginning in his hands.

"It's okay. Patrick, it's okay. I'm here. Just breathe." He obeyed, taking a deep breath and regaining control. Then he continued.

"After Las Vegas, after I knew _he_ knew how much you meant to me... all the dreams were like that. All the things he could do to you, in bloody technicolor. It's why I got so desperate to find him, to stop him before he got to you... And then..." He stopped, swallowing hard. She knew what was next, the stuff of her own Red John nightmares for a long time. She leaned against his shoulder, trying to comfort both of them with touch.

"When he - took you, when I heard his voice on the phone..." He turned his head and looked at her, tears in his eyes. "Teresa, I was so scared. I've never been so scared in my life. I thought I'd lost you, and it was the worst thing I could imagine. It's still the worst thing." He paused for a moment and licked his dry lips before admitting, "That's what I dream about. Ever since the other day, with Foster, it's all come back. All that fear, of losing you."

He released her hands and rose, taking a few steps away, wanting to pace but frustrated by the limited space. He went as far as he could down the narrow walkway before coming back to stand in front of her.

"I keep seeing it, over and over, what could have happened. All the ways he could have killed you. I walk into that convenience store and it's you lying in the pool of blood. Or I get there just in time to hear the shot and see you on the ground. Or I'm standing there looking into your eyes and he -" He choked but forced himself on. "He blows your head off. I can taste the blood."

He walked away again and stood still for a moment before turning back to face her. She met his eyes over the short distance between them, tears stinging in her own. His voice was only a little unsteady as he went on. "Every time I fall asleep, you die. I see it, I feel it. And you know -"

He came back to kneel in front of her, taking her hands. "We both know it could happen. This job is dangerous. Any day, any case, it could happen. You could die. And I can't endure that again. I can't, Teresa. How do I stop being afraid of the worst thing I can imagine, when the danger is real?"

She looked down, and a tear dripped onto his hand. She sniffed and shook her head, refusing to give in. "I don't know. But we have to try. Yes, our job is dangerous, but it's not unique. _Life_ is dangerous. Crossing the street, driving a car. Anybody might die at any time. How do they deal with it?"

He frowned, getting up, and for a moment Teresa feared she'd said the wrong thing and he would stop talking, but then he sat back down next to her. His tone was only a little clipped when he replied. "Mostly they ignore it. But I'm finding that a little hard at the moment."

She turned to face him, swiping impatiently at her eyes with her hands. "I'm afraid of losing you too. And probably with more reason. You're a lot worse than I am about going into dangerous situations without backup." He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't let him. "Does the name Crystal Markham ring a bell? How about Richard Haibach? And that's just since we've been in Austin. You're not the only one who's scared, Jane. But what can we do about it? The only way to not be afraid is to not care. Do you think that's an option? Should we just stop loving each other?"

"Don't be silly," he said roughly. "I'll stop breathing before I stop loving you."

She smiled a little shakily. "Yeah. Me too. So I guess we'll just have to accept that love is freaking terrifying and find a way to deal with it."

He looked at her seriously. "How?" He seemed to really expect an answer.

Unfortunately, she didn't have one. She opened her mouth anyway and prayed for inspiration. "I don't know. I'm trying to figure this out too. But the one thing I'm sure of is that we need to figure it out together. Not shut each other out."

He thought for a moment and then nodded. "Agreed."

"Really?" He nodded again, his lips beginning to curve into a tiny smile for the first time in what felt like hours. She smiled back warmly. _We can do this,_ she thought. _We really can._

"Okay. Yes, it's true that either or both of us might die tomorrow. But we're not dead yet. I think we need to focus on the positive. I've been a cop for almost twenty years, and been in quite a few dangerous situations, but so far, I've survived all of them. You, even with your uncanny ability to infuriate people, have survived too. That's a pretty good track record. And we spent years dealing with the worst psychopath anybody could ever expect to face. We're still here. He's not. That's got to prove something. We're not easy to kill."

"We've also been lucky. Luck runs out. Cole Foster had a gun to your head."

"But he only pulled the trigger in your nightmares. In real life, he didn't. I'm alive and he's in jail. That's what you need to keep telling yourself. The horrible things you imagine didn't happen."

"This time. My track record's not so good, if you remember." His voice was harsh, but she knew the anger was directed at himself. "People do die because of me. And the next time I send you off on a plan that goes wrong, so could you."

Enlightenment struck her abruptly. "So _that's_ it. I should have known. You're taking this so badly because you think it's your fault I was in that situation. If something had happened to me, you'd have blamed yourself."

"Because it _was_ my fault. The prison break was my idea. You were never supposed to meet Foster."

"Yeah, and Foster was supposed to be a simple car thief. We none of us knew he was a raving psycho. Do you think I'd have stood around and let him murder that store clerk if I'd had the least hint that it might happen? We didn't know! And unless you're claiming you really _are_ psychic now, you didn't know either. So lay off this guilt crap."

"And what about next time, when something that's 'supposed' to be simple goes wrong? When I miss some other crucial fact? That time it could kill you!"

Teresa took a deep breath. Losing her temper wasn't going to help. "We're careful, and we're good at what we do. We'll keep being careful, and make sure we have backup before we go into anything even potentially dangerous. Okay? And you can't blame yourself for 'missing' something you had no earthly way of knowing. News flash. You _aren't_ psychic."

Patrick wasn't making any effort to keep calm. He stood up abruptly and took two agitated steps away before turning back to her, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "No, I'm not. But I _need_ to be! If I'm going to protect you. I wish I could just -" He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, then turned away, opened the door of the RV and went outside.

Startled, Teresa took a moment to realize her mouth was hanging open. _Where did _that_ come from?_ He'd never believed in psychics. So what...? She found she was holding her breath, listening for a car. When she was sure he wasn't leaving, she sighed. He was full of surprises, her Patrick. At least he couldn't go far with no shoes on.

Deciding to let him have a few minutes alone, she visited the Airstream's tiny bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red, so she washed her face, cupping the cool water in her hands. It felt good. The quiet was soothing, nothing to be heard but crickets, and tiredness hit her suddenly. Coming out of the bathroom, she looked longingly at the bed. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and rest. Time to finish this.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Teresa went outside, stopping at the foot of the steps to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The moon was out, so it wasn't completely dark. It only took a minute before she could see the white of his shirt glimmering. Patrick was standing just outside the little awning attached to the trailer. He appeared to be looking up at the sky. She sat down at the little table under the awning and waited quietly. After a moment he came and sat down across from her.

She kept her voice soft and calm, trying not to disturb the stillness. "So sometimes you wish you really could be psychic? I didn't know that. That you'd ever believed in it."

He sighed. "Carnies tend to be superstitious. They believe a lot of things. When I was a kid, I... I didn't know any better. Until I learned." She could hear the ache of old grief in his voice.

"I'm sorry. That must have hurt."

He shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I know none of it is real. It's just... sometimes it would be useful, wouldn't it? If I really could read minds, see the future. If I could just be _sure _before we take risks..."

Teresa couldn't hold back a soft huff of laughter. "This from the man who won a million dollars in a poker game, who's been banned from how many casinos because you always win? I think you're pretty good at assessing risk, even without supernatural powers."

He didn't smile. "I learned a few things from my father's gambling habit. Only bet on a sure thing, for one. And never gamble with anything you can't afford to lose." He leaned across the table towards her. "I can't afford to lose you, Teresa. Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't -" He reached out his hands over the table, and she took them.

"Won't die? I can't see the future either, Patrick. But I know now... The other day, if you couldn't get me out, you were going to make Foster kill you too, weren't you?"

He nodded without hesitation. "I won't survive without you. I lost everything once. Never again."

She swallowed hard. Hearing him say it out loud was harder than she expected. "Okay. Let's make a deal. We're neither of us alone any more. Your life depends on mine, and my life depends on yours. So we'll behave accordingly. You have to protect yourself in order to protect me, and I have to take care of myself in order to keep you safe. We'll both be careful for both of us. Okay?"

"It's not a guarantee."

"No. Nobody gets those. But it's the best we can do right now. And remember, being partners has kept us alive this long. Now we'll try even harder, because we've both got so much more to lose. I have confidence in us. We're a good team, remember?"

"Yes, we are." She could feel him beginning to relax a little. "Okay. Deal. No crazy plans for me, and you won't forget how precious your life is."

"I won't forget. I promise." She smiled at him and raised their joined hands to kiss his fingers in confirmation. Patrick drew them back across the table to kiss hers in return. _Sealed with a kiss,_ she thought. _And let's not forget why we started this..._

"I'm tired. It's time to go to bed. If you dream, you dream." He winced slightly, and she went on, putting as much confidence as she could into her tone. "But I think it won't be so bad now. You'll remind yourself every time before you go to sleep, that I'm safe, I'm alive, that none of the things you imagine has happened to me. We survived Foster, and Red John, and everything else we've had to deal with. Tell yourself that. And try to think about all the good things we can do together in the future. See if you can't dream about those. You have more control over your mind and body than anybody I've ever seen..."

"It seems I can't control my subconscious," he said rather bitterly.

"No. Nobody can, I guess. It's a shame you can't hypnotize yourself. Or - can you?"

"Not out of dreaming. Believe me, I've tried. It never worked in the past."

"Oh. Pity. But if you can let go of some of the fear instead of dwelling on it, maybe that'll help. Like when you were in Venezuela. Or maybe if, instead of just telling yourself not to have bad dreams, you suggested good ones to yourself... It seems to me we, uh, both have a lot more material for good dreams than we used to. If we go to sleep thinking about being happy..."

He smiled. "I still might not sleep much. But it would be much nicer than nightmares." Teresa blushed.

"I meant, focus on a positive future instead of a scary one. Maybe you could redirect your subconcious, even if you can't control it. If you find yourself dreaming about Foster, try to remember it the way it really happened, us getting rescued and being safe, instead of dying."

"Lucid dreaming."

"What?"

"There's a technique where you're supposed to be able to conciously direct your mind while you're dreaming, to change the outcome of the dream. What you just said. It's never worked for me, but I guess I've never really tried very hard. And as you say, I have better material now. And motivation." Patrick smiled at her again, a little shyly this time, and even in the dim light, she thought she saw hope in his eyes. "I never thought I could have this. A life with you. But here we are. So anything must be possible, huh? As long as you're here."

"I'm not going anywhere. Like I said, you're stuck with me. Whatever happens, good or bad."

"For better or for worse?"

His tone was light, but Teresa's heart skipped a beat. It took her a moment to remember how to breathe enough to answer. "Yeah. Something like that. We don't have to deal with stuff alone any more. Neither of us. We'll just have to get used to that."

"Right." He took in a deep breath and let it out, a release of tension she could feel in their still-clasped hands. "Let's go to bed. Somehow I think I'll sleep better tonight."

She smiled and squeezed his hands. "Now there's a prediction I can believe in."

They went inside and got ready for bed. By the time they'd undressed and brushed their teeth and crawled in together, Patrick's exhaustion had caught up with him. He was already half asleep when he murmured, "Night, Teresa. Love you."

Teresa kissed him and stroked his cheek gently. "I love you too. Sweet dreams, darling. Good night."

And it was.

The End


End file.
